


Early and Often

by daisydiversions



Category: Inception (2010), Political RPF - US 21st c.
Genre: Chicago - Freeform, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-01-27
Updated: 2011-01-27
Packaged: 2017-11-10 03:05:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 825
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/461541
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/daisydiversions/pseuds/daisydiversions
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Fix this fucking gong show or I'll beat your damn kneecaps out with a mother fucking baseball bat," says Rahm Emanuel through Arthur's cell phone at two in the morning an ocean away.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Early and Often

**Author's Note:**

> This was intended for the [Arthur/Eames Ass Worship fest](http://cherrybina.livejournal.com/193693.html), but it sort of lost it's way, so I'm posting it here. 
> 
> If you're confused, read this.

“Fix this fucking gong show or I'll beat your damn kneecaps out with a mother fucking baseball bat,” says Rahm Emanuel through Arthur's cell phone at two in the morning an ocean away.

Eames makes a soft snort in his sleep from where his head is pressed tight to Arthur's lower back, his hands around Arthur's waist twitch a little. Even in sleep, Eames seems allergic to Chicago.

“Can't,” Arthur lies, because he hasn't seen the U.S. news today, but Rahm has been bitching about this crap since October and Arthur's swore off messing around with elections after that thing in Iran. “JFK will be closed in this blizzard. Besides, I need to shovel my mom's walk tomorrow.”

“Fuck,” Arthur adds for good measure. It's always good to speak to psychotic individuals in words they can understand. For Dom it had been: Mal, kids, job, and will you fucking take cover already. 

“You are such a goddamn liar,” Rahm tells him, casual as you please because when you grow up in Chicago and hang around politicians, some things are par for the course. “You think my spies haven't already placed you shacked up with your douchebag hooligan in London?” 

The insult doesn't warrant a defense, mostly because it's a fairly accurate descriptor. “Maybe if you paid attention in temple instead of gossiping with your mother, God wouldn't be punishing you like this.”

“Fuck you very much, cocksucker.”

Eames is still out for the count, considering he's in his proper time zone for once, but apparently cock sucking sounds like an appealing suggestion and his mouth makes it as far as Arthur's hip before he gives up and just lazily sucks a bruise into Arthur's ass cheek. 

“Look,” Rahm wheedles because they've known each other long enough that he can pretty guess at the look Arthur is directing at the phone. He'd never concede the illusion of having the upper hand, but he's still asking Arthur a favor, however he's packaging it. “Look, I didn't fucking break up with my fucking boyfriend and haul ass back to this shit cold city just to be fucking turned away by some fucker literalistic judge who wants to decide the election in court like a motherfucking fascist.”

Arthur doesn't even bother to raise an eyebrow. “And by 'boyfriend', you mean the President of the United States, correct?”

“Fuck, I repealed DADT for you, you ungrateful fucker.”

“That happened after you'd already resigned, you asshole,” Arthur snaps. Sometimes, it was surprising how deep that resentment still cut. 

Rahm could argue Bill's good intent all he wanted. He wasn't the one that got pulled from special ops, tossed out on his ass without so much as a 'thank for your service', and was almost victim to an honor killing by his father.

“Yeah, well, fuck,” Rahm persists, “it was still my fucking boyfriend that fucking did it, so you still fucking owe me.”

“Does your wife hear you call him that?” Arthur honestly wanted to know. There were days Arthur was convinced the only explanation for Amy's tolerance was that she was a robot Rahm had commissioned from South Korea. Even their children could be explained by adoption or science.

“She's the one who started it,” Rahm says. “She's also the one who uncovered pictures from your Bar Mitzvah and is threatening to post them on her Facebook if you don't cooperate. Best fucking ideas come from her.”

“Then maybe she should have run your boyfriend's White House herself.”

“Probably would have done a fucking much better fucking job, for fuck's sake,” Rahm agrees. “So, you're fucking in, right?”

“You people are worse than the mob,” Arthur informs Rahm, not for the first time, but it's in a sort of fond way. “Yes, yes, fine, but I'll do something from here. But you have to win the election on your own, I'm just getting you on the ballot.”

“Excellent.” There are papers being shuffled in the background and Arthur wonders how much blackmail material Rahm had prepared in event he continued to refuse. Arthur is certain it cannot be as much as Arthur has on Rahm. Thirteen year old Arthur's Jewfro was pretty terrible though. “Deliverables by the end of the day Thursday.”

It's Tuesday morning, so, of course.

“Goodbye, Mr. Mayor,” Arthur says dryly, snapping his phone shut to the no doubt explicit reply.

“Where the ever loving did you meet that wanker?” Eames asks, his voice still scratchy from sleep, though his tongue had been quite active before he got bored and went back to napping on Arthur's tail bone.

Arthur flips over and lets Eames arrange him how he pleases, slotted against Eames' chest and arms and legs, wrapped up. Eames trails two fingers along the curve of his ass and sighs against Arthur's head, pressing his nose to Arthur's hair.

Eames is a total sop.

“Ballet class,” Arthur tells him. And it's not even a lie.

**Author's Note:**

> ETA: ["He's good at what he does, right?"](http://www.npr.org/templates/story/story.php?storyId=132446634)


End file.
